


Do Not Destroy It

by AltraViolet



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Blood, Death, Gen, Gore, Horror, Monsters, Present Tense, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-13
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2019-05-06 01:03:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14630787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AltraViolet/pseuds/AltraViolet
Summary: Rodimus wakes prematurely from planned hibernation on the Lost Light. Something has gotten aboard... something dangerous. Prowl, of all people, has contacted him and requires the thing to be contained. But will Rodimus live long enough to carry through? Set during “The Transformers Holiday Special” short story, “Silent Light.”  IDW Gen1 AU





	Do Not Destroy It

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MintFlavoured](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MintFlavoured/gifts).



> A gift for MintFlavoured. Hope you like it >3

_beeeeeeeeeeep_

Rodimus groans. An alarm cuts through his recharge like a laser through the eye. It's the kind of recharge so deep and peaceful he can barely remember how to move. His processor is sluggish, hazy. 

_beeeeeeeeeeep_

The alarm is an encrypted communication flagged **CRITICAL** 18 different ways and transmitting across three emergency frequencies. 

Rodimus tries to shake his head clear. His neck isn't working.

“Hmmwzwh?”

It takes a few seconds for Rodimus to remember why he can't move. He was in artificial hibernation, and now he's awake- awakened by an encrypted communication.

Had something gone wrong?

“Gnnn...” he wants to rub his face, but his limbs do not respond.

_beeeeeeeeeeep_

“Shut uuuup.” Rodimus twitches his fingers and parts the plates of his feet. They click and slide over each other, a faux transformation to stimulate sensation. The berth is hard and cold beneath him. The quiet stillness of the room presses down. He opens his eyes. Tiny pink emergency lights shine above him, like a bloody constellation.

_beeeeeeeeeeep_

“Ughhhh.” He concentrates on unlocking his arms and legs from their stasis. They jerk and shudder. His elbow bends suddenly. “Ow! Goddammit.” Anger flares in his chest.

Rodimus assesses the emergency message while his body struggles to waken. 

Curious.

The message is yes, encrypted, and also missing data in a disorienting way. 

_beeeee-_

“That's enough of that,” he mutters, blocking the audible portion of the alarm. The urgency blinks across his processor still – yellow and red - but at least the noise is gone. 

Then a new warning flashes across his processor.

_Warning! Low fuel levels detected!_

Rodimus pushes that aside immediately. “No time for you.”

A movement above him catches his eye; the constellation of emergency lights shifts. 

“Huh?” 

A panel in the ceiling pulls aside with a hiss. 

“What the-”

Darkness, undulating like a snake, reaches down for him.

Rodimus jolts upright- or tries to. His torso hitches halfway and one leg refuses to bend. Rodimus swears. His arms remain stiff at his sides. He shakes them frantically. 

More darkness flows down from the ceiling. It writhes and splits into bundles of cables. Some have tiny lights embedded within. Others are intertwined with a glistening, twitchy material that moves differently from the mechanical bits around it.

A light appears beyond the panel in the ceiling. It is the chilling, purplish light that blue-eyed mechs get when blood floods their optics. Rodimus shivers at the sight of it. It has two eyes, but one is merely a soft scattering of light, and there is a jagged, lit-up border between the two.

The definitive eye blinks.

“Hrrkgh-” Rodimus jumps back as one of the tentacle things touches him. It's _cold,_ by _Primus_ is it cold. It peels and blisters his paint. Rodimus pushes himself off the berth and sprawls to the floor. 

His limbs are halfway responsive. Rodimus shoves himself up, neck craning. He can just see, beyond the edge of the berth above him, _something_ lower itself from the ceiling. It's roughly mech-shaped, with dozens of those tentacles writhing all around it. Rodimus can barely make the thing out, the room is so dark. He tracks its motion by its broken eyes and the faint lights in the tentacles. They move: sickening, hypnotic. Cold air washes down over him.

“C'mon,” he breathes, willing his arms and legs to respond. “C'mon!”

The thing bellows, waves of mech-laughter mixed with the sound of ocular glass shattering. Its tentacles sway and curl. The berth crackles as its feet touch down.

Rodimus tears his attention away from the thing long enough to notice faint red emergency strips embedded in the floor. They indicate a pathway to the door. Rodimus flexes the little plates in his feet again. The emergency message in his processor is still screaming its warning colors. Rodimus sends an override to his limbs and his spark spins. Jolts of energy race through him. He tenses, springs up, and darts for the door.

The thing laughs again. Pointed, black tentacles surge after him, like a volley of arrows. A few spear his plating, leaving sharp, cold stings in their wake. 

“Arrghgh!” Rodimus runs through the door, turns, and slaps the code for the lock. “Ow!” He touches his side gingerly. The cold has pierced one of his torso biolights; the decorative energon flows out. “Dammit! Gonna leave a trail, unless I can patch this up.”

**BAM!**

Rodimus jumps. The thing is throwing itself against the door. “Time to go,” he says and runs down the hall.

He tries to gather his thoughts, grasping for anything that makes sense. The halls are dark, save for strands of twinkling, multicolored lights strung up haphazardly. Rodimus blinks at them, trying to remember. Everything is happening so fast. 

As the last of the artificial hibernation fatigue lifts from his limbs, he remembers. The Lost Light is traveling through dangerous territory. These hideous lights are some contraption of Brainstorm's, or Megatron's, or _someone's_ , and are supposed to cloak the ship as it travels. In fact, he is supposed to be in some kind of special chamber, isn't he? Something to hide-

“My spark,” he breathes, one hand splaying across his chest unconsciously. “The Maulers... they'll sense me. They did sense me! They're aboard!”

He runs. If he holds his broken biolight, it slows him down. So he doesn't, and leaks energon. He remembers that the Mauler had come down from the ceiling. Rodimus glances up. “It's smart enough to travel through the ducts...” He wracks his processor, trying to recall what Minimus and Megatron had been babbling about when they had explained the whole shielding situation. What had they said about the Maulers?

_Anti-mechanical terrorists... legendarily violent..._

The multicolored lights flicker, then go out. The emergency message that has been flitting around the back of his processor instantaneously decrypts.

_Lost Light, hail frequency 386.674 ASAP. Lost Light, hail frequency 386.674 ASAP. Lost Light, hail frequency 386.674 ASAP. Lost Light, hail frequency 386.674 ASAP...._

It repeats ad infinitum. Rodimus limps to the wall and leans against it. He leaves smeared energon handprints behind. He hails the frequency over his own comm.

“Hello?” he says, hoarsely. He resets his vocalizer and thinks it would be wise not to draw attention to himself. He keeps the volume low. “Who the hell is this?”

“Rodimus! Your crude articulations indicate that you are conscious.”

“Prowl.” Rodimus groans, extra loudly. “Great. Of all the people to connect with when I'm being chased by a monster, it had to be the prick of the universe!”

“Rude.”

“Now's not a great time. What do you want?”

“I've been trying to hail the Lost Light for-”

“Oh, really,” says Rodimus. He walks, softly, and ducks around a corner. He peers back the way he has come. “A hideous monster shows up outta nowhere and then _Prowl_ wants to talk. I _wonder_ if the two events are linked.”

“Always the astute observer,” says Prowl.

“Ugh, shove it. What do you want?”

“There is something aboard your ship that you definitely don't want running freely.”

“Yeah.” Rodimus glances at his leaking side. “I know that already, Prowl. Be helpful.”

“Why has no one responded to my hail?”

Rodimus grumbles inwardly. Prowl is not the type to give out information before his own curiosity is satiated. “Everyone's in artificial hibernation. Purposefully. Need to get through Mauler territory. _Undetected_.”

“Ah. That explains several things.” There is a pause and Rodimus can _just_ hear fingertips tapping glass: _tap tap tap_. “You successfully cleared Mauler territory two hours and 14 minutes ago. Approximately 13 minutes ago the Lost Light intercepted a small ship and was breached. How much longer will the crew be in artificial hibernation?”

Rodimus checks his chronometer. “Three hours.”

“Good.”

_tap tap tap_

“Goddammit, Prowl,” says Rodimus. “Give me some information! Is it a Mauler? Something attacked me. It woke me up and attacked me. Or maybe your emergency message woke me up first-”

“You're welcome.”

“-and _then_ it attacked me.”

“Are you badly injured?”

Rodimus runs a quick scan. “It hurts, but I'll be okay. Leaking biolight energon. Got some frigid burns. And I'm really frickin' hungry.”

“I see. Where are you currently located?”

“I'm on one of the upper decks. Gonna try to make my way to the bridge, see what I can do from there. I'm pretty close.”

“Don't bother. The whole ship is on auto-lockdown. Was utilizing an invisibility shield part of the plan to escape Mauler territory?”

Rodimus thinks back to the conversation with Minimus again. It feels like a lifetime ago. “Yeah. Yeah, I think so.” 

“Everything's shut down. I've sent some, shall we say, very high level commands to the Lost Light. It should've halted its course and lowered its shield. But the receivers themselves are offline.”

“My ship is special,” says Rodimus, gritting his teeth. “It never served the Autobots during the war. It won't respond to your 'high level commands.'”

“Oh? Did you think I'd let the Lost Light leave Cybertron with its particular stowaway, those short few years ago, without installing my own back door codes?”

Rodimus bristles. “You slag sucking-”

“Now's not the time,” says Prowl cooly.

Comm silence follows. Rodimus undertakes the monumental task of shoving his anger aside. Prowl is right: time is scarce with a dangerous intruder aboard and a defenseless crew. Though the thought of Prowl having access to his ship makes him feel sick- sicker even than the thought of the monster - Rodimus can have Perceptor scour the Lost Light's circuitry later and eliminate any _trace_ of Prowl's code. 

Rodimus pushes a panel in the wall, as softly as he can, and mangles the wires inside until a door slides open. He jumps over the threshold and pulls the door shut manually. The dim emergency lights in the stairwell function. He takes the stairs down six at a time. 

His footsteps pound in that open, vertical space. He imagines the entire ship this way: echoing, empty, gray. The stairs become dizzying; he looks away as he jumps. Rodimus tries not to think of his friends slumbering through the danger. Would the Mauler find them? Crawl into their berths and curl its cold, gross tentacles around their sleeping forms? Extinguish their sparks with its sickening laugh? Rodimus growls. He will _not_ allow that to happen.

Rodimus loses count of the levels but he's pretty sure he's where he wants to be now. He slides the exit from the stairwell open manually. “So, we left Mauler territory and then... what, they sent a small vessel after us? One got aboard?”

“That appears to be the case.”

Rodimus peeks out of the doorway. This hallway's regular lights are off, as expected, but its strings of multicolored lights twinkle. It would be cheerful, under different circumstances. “Why are _you_ pinging me, then, Prowl?”

“I-”

_ksshhhhh kshhhhhhh_

Rodimus freezes. “Wait. Something's not right.”

“Describe the situation.”

“I thought I was going towards the engine room,” says Rodimus. “I headed for it a few minutes ago, when you said the bridge wouldn't work out. But I can hear the vents of Level 16, right next to the bridge. Ultra Magnus doesn't think I read his _stupid_ reports and for the most part I _don't_ , but he kept sending repair request after repair request for the vents because they make that _ksshhhh_ sound and, I don't know, it annoys him because it reminds him of the hushed tones of laughter or something.”

There is a calculated pause, one long enough for Rodimus to realize he's been babbling. He frowns at himself.

_ksshhhhh kshhhhhhh_

“You are certain of your point of origin?” asks Prowl.

“Of course,” snaps Rodimus. “Was woken up in my quarters, Level 14. Followed the hallway down and to the right. Took an emergency stairwell down to Level 4. Or, at least, I thought I did...”

“What do you see?”

“Right now? An empty hallway, lit up with the signal boosters for the invisibility shield.”

“If you- u – u -en- -en- -ent- -er-” Prowl's connection stutters and fails as Rodimus steps into the hallway.

“Hmm,” says Rodimus, studying the multicolored lights. 

The emergency signal from before, the one that blared across three frequencies and woke him, slams through his processor again. “Jeez, Prowl,” he mutters, wincing. “Can't even get a milisecond free of you, can I?” He sighs and grabs the wire closest to him. “Doesn't take a genius to figure out that the signal boosters are interfering with the comm link.” Rodimus grips the wire in both hands and pulls until it snaps. The hallway goes dark.

_ksshhhhh kshhhhhhh_

“-idmus? Rodimus?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“The signal boosters interfere with the-”

“Yeah, I know,” says Rodimus. “Of course, only cheerful, multicolored lights could keep something as nasty as the Maulers _and_ you at bay, Prowl.”

“It takes quite a bit of energy not to sink to your-”

_ksshhhhh kshhhhhhh_

“That's the vent sound,” Rodimus says. “Do you hear it?”

“Faintly.”

“I didn't get a chance to look at the Level number stenciled on the wall before I killed the lights,” says Rodimus.

“You didn't think to look at it, you mean.”

“Shut up, Prowl.” Rodimus feels along the wall. It's cold and covered in dozens of little dings. “I'll figure it out.”

“Double back and continue towards the m-”

“Shut up!” hisses Rodimus.

_ksshhhhh kshhhhhhh_

Rodimus's spark spins faster. “That sound's not right,” he whispers. “I really don't think there's any way I can be on Level 16.”

“Always trust your instincts,” says Prowl. 

_fshhhhh_

“What the hell-”

“What was that-”

Rodimus strains in the darkness, audials set to max.

_fshhhhh_

“That's the sound of the broken filter in the shuttle bay, dock four,” whispers Rodimus.

“The shuttle bay?”

“Yeah. There's an access vent in dock four. The filter's broken and it makes that sound when a ship settles in after entry. Dock four is next to the Rod Pod, so I always hear it when I-” 

“Are you saying you can navigate the Lost Light by the sounds of its broken equipment?”

“I guess I am,” says Rodimus with a hint of pride.

“And, just to be clear, you are nowhere near the shuttle bay?”

“No frickin way. It's at least five miles below me-”

_rrrrrRRRRrrrrrr_

“Let me _guess,_ ” says Prowl. “That's the broken toilet in the common room.”

“Close,” whispers Rodimus. “Finicky motor in the waste receptacle unit on Level 3.” His eyes have finally adjusted. He peers down the dark hallway. There is a very, very faint light at its end.

“Interesting,” says Prowl flatly.

“I- ahh!” Something in the darkness slashes at Rodimus. He yanks his arm close, energon bubbling out of the slit on the back of his hand. The wound pulses with frigid cold. “It's here! Or there's more than one!”

“Run.”

Rodimus is moving before Prowl finishes the word. He launches himself forwards, painting the hallway with dotted lines of energon as it pours out of his hand and broken biolight.

_rrrrrrrrRRRRrrrrrrrrfffffshhhhhhhhaaaaaahahhahahahaaaaaa!_

The sounds melt and mix and morph into that hideous laughter again. Rodimus feels no shame in letting out a squeak of fear. Even Prowl takes a breath over the comm.

“Is that what it sounds like?” he says, his cool ever so slightly faltering.

“Yeah. Ghastly.” Rodimus ducks as something sharp and cold flies overhead. Little whips of stinging ice slash against his soles. He redoubles his efforts, puts on a burst of speed, and nearly flies down the hall. His fans whir in his audials. “Doesn't... help... that I'm leaving... a trail!” He clamps his uninjured hand over the other. The movement slows him down.

Energon pounds through his lines. His limbs ache. His tanks are churning fumes. The broken biolight at his side finally empties and goes out. Rodimus strains for something- anything- ahead.

The thing laughs.

_flick! flick!_

_Don't look back,_ thinks Rodimus. _Don't look back!_

He looks back.

That bloodied-eyed gaze rushes towards him, wreathed in blurry lights that flicker when the tentacles cross in front of them.

“Sweet... Primus,” says Rodimus. “It's hideous!” 

Prowl makes a strange noise in his throat, quickly covering it up with a fake cough.

“There's something... about this...” pants Rodimus. He can see the end of the hallway now. There's a huge window there, with a beautiful star field and nebulas and other glowing space things. They give him the tiniest bit of hope. He recognizes the scratches on the window- Whirl and Blaster had some kind of fight here a while ago. Ultra Magnus sent the requisition form for new glass, but Rodimus hadn't signed it yet. This is definitely Level 4. Right where he thought he was. The monster had been using sounds from around the ship to confuse him. “Something... doesn't add up,”

“What's that?”

“Why... would a technophobe... have a mech's... eyes?” Rodimus's limbs ache. His side screams with pain. The sound of his footfalls provides a steady beat for the maniacal laughter behind him. Little darts of black coldness fly by; the creature is shooting pieces of itself at him.

_flick! flick!_

“What do you mean?”

“Maulers... hate... Cybertronians,” says Rodimus. The window is much closer now. He knows there's an access panel to the vent system above it, but what use is that if the creature sees him enter it? “Minimus... said so.” Rodimus takes a huge gulp of air and lets it flush through his system. His fans kick on overdrive. “Why... would it look... like us?”

_kshhhhhhshhhhhhaaaaahahaha!_

_flick! flick!_

Rodimus counts his footsteps. Every fourth step, the creature sends two arrowheads of coldness at him. He shudders. The laughter- the part of it made of the sound of broken glass- cycles through its own tempo. It's almost as if the thing is making a song out of the chase-

“You need to hide and regroup,” says Prowl.

“So obvious... won't... honor that... with a-”

“Response? Why are you so short on breath?”

“-response.” Rodimus is almost to the window. He can see himself reflected in it, faintly, against a backdrop of seething black. “Hibernation... low fuel... bad combo.” He counts, and there, as predicted-

_flick! flick!_

He ducks to the side and flings himself around the corner. In the few seconds he has, he pounds the wall with a specific series of punches. A hidden panel pulls aside and he throws himself through. The panel slides shut with a thud behind him, and he sprawls on the ground, venting heavily.

“What just happened?”

“Shut... up.” Rodimus squeezes his eyes closed, cuts the comm with Prowl, and relishes the moment. The thing is on the other side of the wall, scratching. But it won't get through. He knows. He hopes.

Rodimus awkwardly turns to his side, then pushes himself up. The motion-detecting lights activate, bathing the small room in white. Rodimus blinks until his sensors adjust. It is the first properly-lit room he's been in since before hibernation. He crosses the room, pokes at a panel, and guzzles down several super-ultra-refined medical grade energon cubes. They're highly prized and formulated for the heavily wounded, but he feels no guilt in chugging all of them.

“Ahh...” He tosses the containers aside and sits. Already, he feels much better. His systems cycle the new fuel through efficiently. Rodimus grabs a small medical kit and covers the wounds on his hand and side. Then he stands, stretches, and smiles.

“Prowl,” he says, opening the link again. 

“-odimus! There you are! Don't do that again.”

“Or what? You'll force me to take _another_ homicidal maniac aboard? I doubt you can find worse than who is, and has been, here.” Rodimus flexes his wounded hand. “I'm in a safe place for the moment. Had them installed on every level, with medical supplies, after the last rampage.” The patch on his hand holds. “Prowl, I get the feeling you know more about this thing than you've let on.”

“Where are you?”

“Ah, ah,” says Rodimus. “I also get the feeling that thing knows how to listen in on us, so let's proceed with that assumption, shall we?”

There is a cold moment of silence, then, “affirmative.”

“Thought so,” says Rodimus. “First- is there more than one of those?”

“No.”

“Okay, that's good at least. Maybe. Damn, it's fast, then. Okay, Second- how do I destroy it?”

“Do _not_ destroy it,” says Prowl. 

“Why are we not destroying it?”

“Don't you want to know what it is?”

“That's question the Third,” says Rodimus. “We're not there yet. Answer question the Second.”

“That's classified.”

“It's loose on my ship and I need to know how to destroy it,” says Rodimus between his teeth. 

“Do not destroy it,” repeats Prowl.

“Then give me more information! I need to know how to contain it.”

“I've given you everything I ca-”

“Goddammit!” Rodimus slams his fist against the wall. “This isn't-”

**BAM!**

The thing has slammed something against its side of the wall in answer. Rodimus backs away.

“This isn't one of your games, Prowl! Or, if it is, I am not playing! You give me the information I need or I will rip that thing apart with my own hands! ...Somehow!”

“Fine!” Prowl takes a moment to compose himself. “It's an... an asset. From Earth.”

“Earth?” Rodimus scoffs. “It doesn't _look_ like something from Earth.”

Prowl huffs. “It's an alien life form that landed on Earth. Mechanical life form, not unlike us. The humans did something to it. Infected it; the details are unclear at this time. Skyfire analyzed it and our working theory right now is that the humans assumed it was Cybertronian and experimented on it. They were probably trying to find a way to destroy us, but something went wrong.”

“Great.”

**BAM!**

“It's intelligent,” says Prowl. “It can adapt to its environment. It appears to understand most speech. And it's fast.”

“Any known weaknesses?”

Prowl considers. “No known weaknesses. It is exceptionally good at sneaking around. I do recommend caution.”

“I see,” hisses Rodimus. “So, what the hell is it doing _aboard my ship_?”

There is a slight pause. Rodimus swears he can hear the gears turning in Prowl's head. “An executive decision was made to quarantine the asset and bridge it to the Dark Nebula. Mauler territory skirts the edge of the Dark Nebula in places. As you're traveling through there currently, the space bridge must have malfunctioned and latched onto the Lost Light's location. ”

“Uh huh,” says Rodimus. “You know I don't trust you as far as I can throw you, right?” 

**BAM!**

“Executive decision, huh? Do you mean Optimus? Or Starscream? Why would they send this thing to the Dark Nebula?”

“It's- it's... theorized that that is its home.”

“Why spend the energy to send something so dangerous home?” asks Rodimus. “Why not just destroy it?”

“It- Optimus wanted it off Earth, so it wouldn't hurt the humans, and-”

“You suck at lying, Prowl,” says Rodimus.

Prowl says nothing.

**BAM!**

“Why's it on my ship?” Rodimus is suddenly tired, fresh energon notwithstanding. “I'm losing my patience, Prowl. My friends are on board, _sleeping_ , and that thing is running around. Tell me how to kill it.”

“Don't destroy it,” says Prowl. “Lure it to your medical bay. You have some form of quarantine there, surely? Lock it in there until the crew wakes up. Have Ratchet examine him.”

“' _Him_?'”

“Him. It. Whichever pronoun delights you, Rodimus.”

“Ratchet's gone.”

“...oh.” 

Rodimus is pleased, despite everything that's going on, to have caught Prowl off guard about something. “Yeah, you think you know it all, don'tcha?”

“I normally do.” Prowl makes a very, very faint, strained sound, then continues. “No matter. First Aid is aboard, correct? Quarantine the asset and have him look at it.”

“Yeah, whatever,” says Rodimus. “I don't think that's gonna happen.” He picks at the wall. “There's something bothering me about your story, Prowl. More than all the other things, I mean.”

“Hmm?”

“If the Lost Light was shielded and invisible _and_ completely unable to be hailed, how the hell did the space bridge lock onto our coordinates?”

“Space bridge technology is tricky, sometimes. Aberrations in their functionality are not unknown, and the quantum characteristics of the Lost Light further complicate matters.”

“Right,” says Rodimus. “Sure. What a convenient answer.” Rodimus kicks the energon containers he'd tossed aside earlier. “I take grievance with that answer. Also, for the record, I don't think humans have the kind of technology necessary to merge a mechanical life form with whatever the hell else is going on in that thing.”

“Circumstances, and thus technology, evolve quickly here,” says Prowl. “I'm advocating for its quarantine, rather than destruction, because any advantage we can leverage is of the utmost importance.”

“Of _course_ it is,” says Rodimus. “And just _how_ were you going to turn this incredibly dangerous, willful, living thing towards your advantage?”

“ _Our_ advantage, naturally. And-”

“Wait, shut up.” Rodimus glances around the room.

“What?”

“It hasn't gone _bam_ in the past few seconds.”

“Ah.”

Rodimus tenses, bending his knees, eyes darting. He's not sure if he should go to the door, in preparation for a speedy exit, or _away_ from the door-

The lights cut out.

Rodimus blinks in the darkness, cursing softly. 

“What's happening?”

“Lights are out,” whispers Rodimus. “It really wants to get me in the dark, doesn't it? That's a little... a little weird, ya know? It's a little weird. I mean, the whole thing is super weird. But I'm beginning to see the emergence of themes-”

“Psychological warfare,” says Prowl. “It's getting to you.”

“No, it's not,” insists Rodimus. “It's totally not.”

_tik tik tik_

“Would you stop typing,” hisses Rodimus.

“I'm not,” says Prowl.

Rodimus looks up. The ceiling is lost in darkness.

_tik tik tik_

“It's... walking... above me, I think,” he says, so softly that Prowl can barely hear.

_tik tik tik_

Rodimus backs away from the sound, reaching behind him, praying to Primus he's going the right way. His fingers brush the wall. His fans- he stills them as much as he can, and his breathing. He tries so hard not to make a sound.

_tik tik tik_

He feels the exit panel. Thank Primus. Just need to push the-

It _screams_. The sound is a thousand voices made of metal shearing apart. It cuts through Rodimus's audials like a chainsaw- raw, unrelenting. It surrounds him, reverberating in the tiny room and shaking him down to the spark. Rodimus slams a fist against the panel. Somewhere above him, in the darkness, the ceiling shrieks and bursts apart. A gust of frigid air hits Rodimus as he stumbles out into the hallway.

The monster surges forward. Its lights strobe behind its writhing tentacles. Rodimus whips around and runs – one, two, three paces – jumps and transforms and revs down the hallway. The thing roars, that processor-splitting sound clawing across the walls, trailing after him. 

Rodimus shifts and careens, the energon pounding through him, burning clean and hot. The multicolored lights around him blur into a smear. He floors it for a few miles- covers the distance in mere seconds- and screeches around a corner. Another half mile on absolute pedal-to-the-floor speed, and he brakes, tires screeching. He boosts a turn around another corner. Rodimus transforms, spins, and lands with a flourish. He glances around for just a moment, vents ragged, steam rising from his chrome pipes, disappointed that there is no audience. He flattens himself against the wall and listens.

It's mad, but, fortunately, not as fast as he is. Its screams are lost to the distance.

For now.

“Nice work,” crackles Prowl's voice, dryly.

Rodimus, suddenly reminded that there _is_ an audience, tries to still his rapid venting. “Thanks...”

“How far back is it? Where are you now?”

“Shh... it listens.” Rodimus gives his vitals a quick glance. Most indicators on green. A few on yellow. None on red. He's doing okay. 

An enormous, solid door with a dozen locks looms above him. He taps a code into its access panel. The locks rotate and spin in a complicated pattern. The door opens. Rodimus steps inside. “I have an idea.”

“Remember, containment only,” warns Prowl. “Don't destroy it.”

“Uh huh, yup, containment,” says Rodimus. He starts to walk forward, then remembers the door. “Aha,” he says. He slaps another code into it and watches the door shut tight, its locks going through the reverse motions on this side. “One of the most secure areas of the ship,” he says. “Like to see ya get through that!” He lowers his voice. “Not really, though.”

Rodimus glances around the quantum engine room. It's brightly lit and criss-crossed with more multicolored lights than he can shake half a matrix at. Above him are the huge, rounded ends of the fuel quills- the special structures that allow the Lost Light to hop through space. They feed snugly through holes in the ceiling and extend out into the chill of space beyond. Rodimus graces the quills with a smile. He thinks they're really cool. Even raised and locked in a non-operational setting they thrum with their own beautiful, peculiar energy. “There's a ton of signal boosters in here.”

“Noted.”

Rodimus has only been in this room a few times, usually nodding along to whatever Perceptor or Hoist or whoever is saying. He wishes he had paid more attention, now. If he remembers right, the energy to power the ship is generated in the fuel furnaces, located a few floors beneath him. For regular, non-quantum-y transport, energy is conveyed to the engines via gigantic columns of conductive glass and metal. For quantum jumps, the quills are lowered into receptacles in the floor. Nucleon rods are brought into contact with the quills and powered up and some kind of magic happens and then they can hop through space. Yeah, that sounds right.

Since the ship needed to remain operational to pass through Mauler territory, the columns are still functioning. Rodimus can very faintly feel them humming through the floor, conveying power from the furnace to the four engine blocks a few miles away. 

“-atus re-”

“Not getting that,” Rodimus says absentmindedly. He strolls over to the main console and flicks aside the oversized note that says **RODIMUS DO NOT PUSH**. Beneath it is a glass dome housing a big red button. 

“-atus report.”

“Status report?” Rodimus pushes the glass dome up and slams the button with his palm. “Things are about to get interesting.”

The humming energy beneath his feet stills. The air thickens immediately. Rodimus twitches as little bursts of electricity crackle across his plating. Half the multicolored lights explode, flames sizzling down the wires until they go dark. The other half strobe, singular bulbs occasionally popping out. As Rodimus's eyes adjust to the new light levels, a shearing, grinding sound shakes the room. He grips the console for support.

“What was -t?”

Rodimus looks up. A few of the fuel quills are shuddering and shifting. “Huh.”

“-at's happening?”

“I'm not sure,” says Rodimus. 

“Wha- -you do?”

“Pushed the red button.” Rodimus puts a hand to his chin. “Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

Prowl's response is lost in a burst of scoffing static.

Between the signal boosters, the general ship-wide shut down, and the red button – Rodimus has no idea what combination is causing this – the quantum engine room reacts to conflicting orders. Red light blossoms across the quills. 

Little pneumatic _whoosh_ es join the cacophony. Circular seams in the floor expand and contract like irises. Each time the irises flare open, an eerie green glows from deep below. The nucleon rods are rising up from the belly of the ship.

The quills are humming now, the red expanding into an intense orange, with bright yellow glowing at the cores. A few have shuddered their way closer to the floor.

**BAM!**

Rodimus jumps. “It's back,” he says, and crouches down behind the console.

**BAM!**

“-ember no-”

“Not getting that,” whispers Rodimus. “Wow, it got here a _lot_ faster than I thought it would.” Fear pulls at his spark. He thinks, _at least it's here, not killing anyone else._

Tiny, smoking holes appear in the locks on the door. 

Rodimus gapes. “It- it's melting the door-”

“-ighly valuable-”

_**BOOM** _

The floor shakes. Rodimus falls back. He looks around the room frantically. The sound hadn't come from the door.

One of the fuel quills slowly rises from the floor. A few near it shudder, before themselves slamming downwards. 

_**BOOM**_

Rodimus scrambles to his feet, but is thrown to his knees again by the force of the quills' impact.

“-hat the hel-”

“Fuel quills,” whispers Rodimus.

“-at part of- -an?”

“Didn't get that.” Rodimus braces himself as another quill falls. He wonders if they normally work like this. Will they break? 

One of the quill-nucleon pairs has merged and that quill stays down. The warm colors of its energy meet the neon green of the rod and grow brighter. The white light is so pure, Rodimus has to look away.

_Maybe people aren't supposed to be in the room when they do this..._

_**BOOM** _

Another quill sticks to the floor. Rodimus looks at it in dismay. “I'm really not sure what's gonna happen,” he says, more to himself than Prowl.

“Do not destr-” 

_**BOOM** _

_crash!_

Rodimus whips his head around. The remnants of the door crumble to rubble. Strategic areas of the wall around it are singed and smoking. Its structural integrity compromised, the door could not withstand the pounding of the quills. And there, climbing over the debris with ease, is the creature.

Dark and issuing its hideous laughter, it strides into the room. It recoils against the crackling in the air, its tentacles whipping around it angrily. Then it shakes itself and steps into the gathering light of the quills. For the first time, Rodimus sees it clearly. 

It's shaped vaguely like a bipedal Cybertronian and has many glowing spots that one could generously call biolights. The similarities end there; its entire body is covered in mouths, teeth and thorny projections. Two huge black horns jut out of its head, crowning its broken, purple eyes. From its mouth - the one in its face – undulates a tongue with a chewed-off tip. Broken glass and splintered metal protrude from its back in a mockery of wings. Its chest is white and split vertically by a mouth with red and blue teeth. Between this mouth and its legs is a seething mass of organic matter and cables. Black teeth protrude from its hips and wrists and shins. Tentacles flow out of its joints- the shoulders, the elbows, the waist. Each terminates with a ring of metal teeth embedded in slimy gums. Braiding in and out of its body is a red substance. It has the tell-tale glistening, sickening smoothness of raw muscle that Rodimus has seen beneath the skin of fleshlings. 

Rodimus _stares_ at it. “What the _fuck_ are you?”

The thing smiles with all its mouths. It twitches its shoulders and releases a torrent of ship-sounds. Several multicolored bulbs behind it pop and shower it with sparks. 

Rodimus clamps his hands over his audials. 

_**BOOM** _

The creature stumbles, falling forward, but it catches itself with its tentacles. It turns away from Rodimus and hisses at the quill nearest to it. Its tentacles whirl through the air. Rodimus takes its moment of distraction as an opportunity to haul himself behind a different set of consoles.

He glances around. No tools, no weapons, not even a piece of metal with a nail sticking out of it. Just the medical grade energon pumping through his lines. He struggles to keep himself together.

“Don't- I repeat, do not destr-”

“You know what, Prowl?” Rodimus says, ducking as the thing turns back in his direction. “Space bridge malfunction, my aft. I think-”

_**BOOM** _

“-you sent this thing to the Lost Light on purpose. I don't know why you would do that, but you've really pissed me off.”

“-atch-”

“You've put hundreds of lives in danger, for what? Some experimental weapon gone wrong for a war that only exists in your head?” Rodimus crawls the opposite way he had come. He peers out at the creature. It's scanning the room. It turns toward him.

“-contain-”

“Shut up,” whispers Rodimus. “Just shut up, Prowl.” His mind races. He watches the thing move. He watches the quills. He watches the opening and closing of the nucleon rods' irises in the floor. 

“-hold you personally responsible for-”

“UGH.” Rodimus jumps out. “I think I almost would rather have it kill me than listen to you anymore. Hey ugly!” Rodimus windmills his arms around. “Catch me if you can!”

The creature throws its tentacles back and roars. It charges for him. 

“Ahhhhhhh!” Rodimus screams and runs the other way. He dodges the quills, doing a large circle around the engine room. The thing follows, laughing and shooting frigid chunks of itself at him.

Rodimus looks back. He's pretty sure it was distracted by the quills right away when it entered the room. It didn't notice the irises in the floor. Rodimus has been careful to lead the creature in a certain path- through areas without the openings to the nucleon rods. The creature doesn't know they're there.

_**BOOM** _

Rodimus spins, jumps, and runs across one of the irises just as it closes. He glances at the creature. Its broken eyes are on him, its tentacles hissing and gnashing their teeth. The creature turns to follow his path, gives a little laugh, and steps-

- _around_ the iris as it opens-

-and shoots black bits of ice at him. “Dammit!” Rodimus charges forward again. The creature _is_ smart. He needs to catch it off guard. He glances at the ceiling, the floor. He tries to make frantic calculations. There are no numbers involved, it's just one side of his processor screaming at the other side. He's almos-

“-annot stress enou- -contain-”

Rodimus startles at the sudden burst of sound over his comm. “Agh! Prowl!” He misses a step and catches his heel on one of the seams in the floor. The combination of his speed and the angle of his body cause him to flail back as he falls. He tumbles, rolls, tenses to spring up again, but the creature is already upon him.

It wraps those frigid tentacles around his body so fast he can hardly process the cold. Its teeth pierce him, ripping big holes in his plating. He screams. The creature laughs, more broken-ocular-glass in the sound than before.

Rodimus winces. He looks past the creature's black horns. The frigidity is eating into him. He tries to ignore it. He sends a command to his fans to spin at the highest setting, even though he's so cold. He focuses on a point behind the creature's head. The thing pulls him towards the vertical maw in its torso. Its tongue slaps across his chest and sticks. Rodimus doesn't feel it. Another tentacle wraps around his neck, pushes his face back. He concentrates on his spark, on his body, on the lifeblood pumping through his lines...

C'mon...! One more...! Second...!

**THOOM!**

Medical-grade energon erupts along Rodimus's plating in an explosion of flames. The creature screams and drops him. He hits the floor with a painful crash. The creature reels back, steam pouring off its body, its burning tentacles curling and flailing. 

_**BOOM** kkkkhhhhhhcccchhhhhhhhhhhhzzzzzzt_

Rodimus gasps, chest heaving. Residual flames crackle around him as energon pours out of the holes in his armor. He groans and scrambles back, hands slick with blood.

_”Foreign matter detected in quill-nucleon aggregate,_ ” intones a mechanical voice. The message repeats twice more and light floods the room. One by one, the nucleon rods power down and release their quills. The quills rise to their locked positions. Rodimus holds his breath, waiting for the creature to jump up again. 

But it doesn't. Its quill rises, taking half of its tangled, smashed remains with it.

Prowl's voice crackles in his audials. “It's- !”

“It- it's gone. It's dead.” Rodimus pushes himself to his feet and walks over unsteadily. Although the floor is still now, he feels awful and off-balance. The armor-shaking sounds echo in his processor. “Ugh, Primus, that was horrifying. But I did it!”

Rodimus kicks at one of the creature's smashed horns. Among the teeth and blood-spattered, hissing metal chunks on the floor, something red catches his eye.

“You fucking _idiot_!”

“ _Excuse_ me? You've said a lot of shitty things in your time, Prowl, but you've never sworn at me like that before.” Rodimus edges closer, squinting at the red object. The creature's body stinks of energon and organic-death. Cold emanates from it. “This thing must've been an important part of your 'advantage plan,' whatever it was. But now it's gone.” 

“You fu- -were supposed to contai- -help!” 

“Shut _up_ , Prowl! This is all _your_ fault. Every decision you made regarding this creature led directly here. If you couldn't predict this ending, then I don't know what to tell you. If you thought you could send a monster to my ship and I wouldn't do everything in my power to destroy it, then you don't know me very well.” Rodimus takes a deep breath. “Once Magnus wakes up, I'm gonna have him check the records on the shuttle this thing came in on. I bet your launch sequence codes are all over it. I don't believe for one second that Optimus, or even Starscream, would send this thing here.” Rodimus darts his hand between the metal shards and pulls the object out. It's cold. He shakes the blood off. It can't be... “An Autobrand?”

“They were- -ill him,” repeats Prowl. A choking sound comes over the line. “Ratch- -posed to help-”

“Are you _crying_?” Rodimus turns the Autobrand in his hands, puzzled. “Why the hell are you crying?”

“That was Jazz!”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> jic it wasn't clear, Jazz was infected with a dire wraith. To see the completely awesome/horrible effect that has on a TF, check out IDW's "ROM vs Transformers."


End file.
